The Bad-Break-Up Haircut


Listening to songs once sung

Not long ago; long enough that the style

Of a while back

Has changed.

I was looking for something, and I found a

Cheap replacement.

Lost myself in a basement

So cold, so bare, so alone without a rope

To pull me out.

Found out; discovered

The glass box of a thousand lies


Like my spirit.


By my own stupid heart,

Life became a poem of brownish-black hatred and wish-I-hadn’ts.


Changed to


And begged for a re-arranged self

My glory cut short

Reflected in long locks now wrapped

In a plastic bag.

A garden does not appear all at once,


Winter melts into drops of dew from which the seeds of new

Life suckle,

And work becomes refreshing life itself.

Dormancy ignited

Winter melted

Death resurrected

Shame eradicated and inverted, grace bestowed, faith renewed.

Locks grow longer over time

And no one watches cells divide,

But time heals wounds meant to kill,

And brown strands depict a newness

Perhaps under-appreciated.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s